


have you ever taken your time in a yarn store

by putorius



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: ADHD Grantaire, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autistic Character, Autistic Enjolras, Enjoltaire Week 2017, Knitting, M/M, Stimming, this takes place in a nonspecific cold month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putorius/pseuds/putorius
Summary: One thing Grantaire hadn’t been fully prepared for upon entering Enjolras’s room for the first time was the inordinate number of stuffed animals covering the bed.“Um,” said Grantaire.“Hm?” said Enjolras. He was rifling through his bookshelf and wholly unfocused on Grantaire.“You have, like, a ton of stuffed animals,” said Grantaire.Enjolras looked up, first at Grantraire and then at his bed.“That’s true,” said Enjolras.





	have you ever taken your time in a yarn store

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for exr week. todays prompt was soft. i didnt edit it, so i hope its alright?

One thing Grantaire hadn’t been fully prepared for upon entering Enjolras’s room for the first time was the inordinate number of stuffed animals covering the bed.

“Um,” said Grantaire.

“Hm?” said Enjolras. He was rifling through his bookshelf and wholly unfocused on Grantaire.

“You have, like, a ton of stuffed animals,” said Grantaire.

Enjolras looked up, first at Grantraire and then at his bed.

“That’s true,” said Enjolras. He went back to his bookshelf. It looked, to the outside observer, that some of the books on the floor were digging painfully into Enjolras’s knees, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Grantaire inspected the bed from a safe distance. A soft looking panda was huddled in the corner. A koala was lying facedown. A small pink rabbit seemed to be having a conversation with an equally small green bear. The bear had on a Christmas hood, complete with little fake antlers. There was a very, very large bear sitting upright, the kind of thing one might win at a carnival. Grantaire stared heavily at it.

“There,” said Enjolras. He dusted his knees off as he stood. He held out a book to Grantaire.

“I could have just gone to a library,” said Grantaire. “You know libraries? Where you can check out books for free and read them on your own time?”

“This is very similar if you think about it,” said Enjolras. “I’m letting you borrow a book for free and you can read it on your own time. I won’t even charge late fees.”

It landed on Grantaire a half second too late that Enjolras had meant this as a joke. The subsequent silence fumbled around them.

“Well,” said Enjolras, holding the book a little more pointedly than before. Grantaire took it.

“I don’t know why you’re so insistent that I read this,” said Grantaire. “Isn’t it supposed to go against your whole thing?”

Enjolras cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I haven’t read it, obviously,” said Grantaire. “I - well, isn’t it supposed to be very absurdist? Don’t you hate that sort of thing?”

“I don’t hate excellent writing,” said Enjolras. “I am allowed to read things other than Karl Marx and Robespierre, you know.”

Again, Grantaire failed to recognize Enjolras’s tone as joking. Grantaire rubbed his thumb alongside the edge of the book. He glanced at the stuffed animals again.

“Are you - ” Enjolras stopped and started over. “Does it bother you that I have stuffed animals?”

“No,” said Grantaire. “Or, like, a little, but not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“Hm,” said Enjolras, looking a little huffy already. “So, it isn’t that you think I’m childish? That I’m _too old_ for them? What is it?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, which was maybe the exact wrong thing to do, because Enjolras puffed up like a bird.

“No,” said Grantaire. “Shut up. Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re always doing that.”

“What is it, then?” asked Enjolras.

“They just - well, they don’t really fit the image you’ve got going on,” said Grantaire. “Not your vibe.”

“And what vibe is that?” asked Enjolras, who was making it explicitly clear that an incorrect answer would result in World War 3.

“You focus a lot on function, yeah?” said Grantaire. “There’s not - you don’t have pictures up on your wall, you dress very, like, that way -”

“Excuse me -” said Enjolras, looking down at his superbly sensible button-down and khakis.

“What I’m getting at here is that stuffed animals don’t really have a necessary function,” said Grantaire. “So it’s kind of messing with this whole picture of you I have in my head.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras, who figured this answer was not as bad at it could have been. “Oh. Well, it isn’t my fault that the picture of me you have in your head is so very incorrect.”

“Why, though?” asked Grantaire. “I mean - can I ask - why do you have so many stuffed animals?”

Enjolras paused for a moment. Grantaire, who generally assumed the worst, thought he was trying to decide whether or not to hit Grantaire for asking such a stupid question. Enjolras was deciding whether or not he trusted Grantaire enough to answer, and if Grantaire would realize the gravity of the answer once given to him.

“It’s because I like soft things,” said Enjolras.

“Oh,” said Grantaire.

Enjolras had moved to return to the living room before Grantaire could be more expansive in his answer. He looked down at the book in his hands - _The Metamorphosis_. It was a tiny thing, something Grantaire could probably read in an hour, tops. Maybe two if he was especially distracted and had to keep taking breaks. If he was lucky and remembered to fill his ADHD medication, he could knock it out in half an hour.

Before heading out, he cast one final look at Enjolras’s bookshelf. It was terribly disorganized. Grantaire didn’t know how Enjolras could ever find a single book he was looking for, not least one so tiny as the one Grantaire was now holding.

\---

One day, Enjolras came into the Musain with glittering skin. He smelled of citrus. Grantaire pretended not to notice either of these things.

“I need to ask you a favor,” said Enjolras, sitting next to Grantaire. “And I understand if it’s too much. I can find someone else to do it.”

“Why don’t you, then?” said Grantaire.

“Pardon?” asked Enjolras.

“Why don’t you have someone else do it?” asked Grantaire. He asked because he normally did things the others couldn’t, like making posters or menial tasks the others didn’t have time for.

“I thought you might like it,” said Enjolras bitterly. “Though, I suppose I won’t bother if you’re so against the idea.”

Enjolras stood sharply. Grantaire grabbed his hand. For a moment, the two of them stared at each other.

“Sorry,” said Grantaire. He dropped Enjolras’s hand. The brief contact had left a smattering of small gold pieces of glitter on Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire tried to scratch some of it off.

“Sorry,” said Enjolras. “I had a bath bomb this morning and I’m still covered in glitter. You must admit, though, that it’s your fault for grabbing my hand without any warning.”

“Uh,” said Grantaire. “I - can you tell me what the favor is?”

Enjolras turned fully towards Grantaire again. “We’re looking to translate some of our basic literature to reach a wider audience in the city. You mentioned a while ago that you missed using your Arabic, so I just thought you might, uh, like the opportunity,” he said. “Sometimes when I miss French, I translate English books.”

Grantaire blinked at him. Grantaire remembered the conversation Enjolras was referring to. It was with Combeferre, who was talking about how excited he had been to meet Cosette, because he finally had a Hindi conversation partner again. It had been about two months ago.

“I wouldn’t - I mean, I wouldn’t be talking to anyone? I would just be translating your pamphlets?” asked Grantaire.

“Yes,” said Enjolras. “I think it’s a bit early for on-foot canvassing, and also, I think you’d hate doing it. Marius is translating into German, Combeferre’s doing Hindi, Eponine has Italian, Feuilly said he’d do Polish if he had the time.”

“You convinced Eponine to work for you?” asked Grantaire incredulously.

“Well, I am paying her,” said Enjolras. “This is a job offer, Grantaire. I would be paying you for your work.”

“No,” said Grantaire. “You don’t need - this would be out of the Amis budget, right? You should spend that on something else.”

“We really think this could make a difference, accessibility wise,” said Enjolras. “It would be well worth the money. I’d even pay out of pocket.”

“That’s worse,” said Grantaire. “Christ. I’ll do it. Don’t stress over payment, okay? I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” said Enjolras. He grinned and put his hands on Grantaire’s, which were resting on the table. He pulled away, startled by himself. “Sorry. Uh, about the glitter.”

“I didn’t take you for a bath bomb person,” said Grantaire.

“It makes the water soft,” said Enjolras. “And, uh, they give you soft skin.”

Grantaire could tell that Enjolras had regretted saying it as soon as it was out of his mouth.

“You did say you liked soft things,” said Grantaire.

Enjolras smiled pleasantly. “You remembered,” he said.

Grantaire nodded. He’d thought about it more than once since it had happened, actually. He couldn’t shake the thought of Enjolras curling up in bed, surrounded by stuffed animals. It was so adorable that sometimes he thought he might be sick.

\---

One thing Enjolras loved about the Musain was that it was always cold there. During the summer, the air conditioning was so strong that patrons and workers alike often wore sweaters and jackets to keep warm. During the winter, the staff neglected to properly heat the building. Enjolras loved this because he loved sweaters.

Enjolras was giving a speech. It was a passionate, impromptu thing that stemmed from an offhanded comment Grantaire had thrown. Normally the intensity of Enjolras’s speech and the fire in his eyes made it impossible not to take him seriously. This time, Enjolras was practically swimming in a large blue sweater. It was hard to take his gesticulating seriously when his hands couldn’t reach the ends of his sleeves. Grantaire snickered.

“And what are you laughing at?” said Enjolras, fury riding on his words. “I am speaking of _injustice_ , of the worst things our world has to offer. What about that is _funny_ to you?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Grantaire, mirth evident in his voice. “It’s just - I mean, you look like a toddler.”

“Excuse me?” said Enjolras. “Excuse me?”

“That sweater is fucking giant, Enjolras,” said Grantaire. “We can’t see your hands.”

This enraged Enjolras to such a degree that he went red in the face and failed to produce any words for about fifteen seconds. Eventually he pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and said, “For God’s sake,” in an exasperated tone. He crossed the room. He stopped in front of Grantaire.

“I like soft things,” he said angrily. Then he stormed out.

\---

In his teen years, Grantaire had done an awful lot of knitting. His mother used to knit. They would spend hours on their front porch knitting together. He had actually refused to learn how to knit as a child (for no reason other than stubbornness), but once his mother got sick, he thought he should learn. He wanted to spend a lot of time with her doing things she loved until he couldn’t anymore. The only reason he stopped once he got to college was that yarn was really expensive and he couldn’t afford the hobby anymore.

A lot of knitting is muscle memory. He was a little too rusty to pull of something with cables, but a little colorwork wouldn’t be especially difficult. He could probably make something with a raised pattern if he did a few warm up swatches.

He settled on an easy hat first, to ease himself back into colors. He had a pair of socks he wanted to make in mind, but didn’t want to waste too much sock yarn if he messed up.

He’d forgotten how pleasant yarn shopping could be, how could just stand there in a sea of colors, sticking your hands into piles and piles of soft fibers. He could understand why Enjolras liked soft things so much.

\---

Combeferre answered the door when Grantaire knocked.

“Hi,” said Grantaire.

“Hello,” said Combeferre. “Would you like to come in?”

“No,” said Grantaire. “No - I just. Can you give this to Enjolras for me?”

Combeferre looked at the smallish paper bag Grantaire had thrust at him.

“Sure,” he said, taking the bag. “I can do that. Are you sure you don’t want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“I’m sure,” said Grantaire. He left before Combeferre could offer again. He might have accepted the third time.

\---

When Grantaire got home from class the next day, Enjolras was waiting on the stoop. He was wearing the hat. He stood when he saw Grantaire coming.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” said Grantaire. “You liked the hat, then?”

“I love it,” said Enjolras. “It’s very -”

“Soft, yeah,” said Grantaire. “That’s what I was thinking of when I was picking out the yarn.”

“Picking -” said Enjolras, suddenly wide-eyed. “You _made_ this? And the socks?”

“And the socks,” said Grantaire. “I hope - I mean, I hadn’t knit in a while. Are they alright?”

“Are they -” Enjolras looked around wildly for a moment before refocusing on Grantaire. “Grantaire, they’re _perfect_.”

“Good,” said Grantaire. “I’m glad.”

Enjolras smiled at him. He was flushed, presumably, Grantaire thought, because of the wind.

“I’m -” said Enjolras. “I mean -”

Enjolras rocked back and forth on his heels for a second. Then he leaned up on his toes and kissed Grantaire on the cheek. It was light. Soft.

“Sorry,” said Enjolras. “Just - thank you.”

“Uh,” said Grantaire. “You’re welcome. Very welcome.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then -

“I guess I should go,” said Enjolras. “I just wanted to thank you for the gifts. It was sweet.”

“I’m sorry,” said Grantaire. “For making fun of you the other day. It was an apology hat.”

“And the socks?” asked Enjolras. “Apology socks?”

“Nah,” said Grantaire. “Those were just because you like soft things.”

Enjolras smiled - a real, bright thing - and finally made to leave. Grantaire grabbed his wrist and Enjolras spun back around to face him. They were suddenly very close to each other.

“Hi,” said Enjolras.

“Hi,” said Grantaire. Then he leaned down, very slowly, and kissed Enjolras on the cheekbone.

“Oh,” said Enjolras.

“Could you -” said Grantaire. “I mean, could you come in? For a cup of coffee?”

Enjolras bit his lip and smiled. He knew full well that Grantaire only had shitty instant coffee, but he nodded anyway.

\---

They were curled up on Grantaire’s couch, sipping coffee. Enjolras was wearing the socks Grantaire had knit him. It was miraculous, Grantaire realized belatedly, that he’d made them in the correct size. It had been a guess.

“Could you do me a favor?” asked Enjolras. “You don’t have to. I could probably Google it if you don’t want to.”

“I probably want to,” said Grantaire. “What is it?”

“Can you teach me to knit?” asked Enjolras. “I want to make socks for myself. It’s hard to find socks that are the right kind of soft.”

Grantaire laughed. “I can do that. Let’s not start with socks, though. They’re pretty tricky. Let’s start with the basic stitches, and then we can make a scarf.”

“I’m so excited,” said Enjolras placidly. Grantaire knew that, despite his nonchalant tone, Enjolras was actually excited.

“Now?” asked Grantaire. He was already getting up to grab his knitting needles and some cheap yarn.

“Oh,” said Enjolras, setting his coffee down. “Sure.”

\---

Enjolras was a complete natural.

“I knew you’d be good at this,” said Grantaire. “See? Easy as pie.”

“It’s very soft,” said Enjolras. “Very soft. This is just methodical softness, Grantaire.”

“That’s true,” said Grantaire, amused. “Methodical softness.

“Mm,” hummed Enjolras.

After a few minutes of silent, wide-eyed knitting by Enjolras, he suddenly snapped out of it.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just - well, it’s a really good stim, isn’t it?”

Grantaire nodded. “I can see that. I’m more of a visual or auditory stimmer, but that makes a lot of sense.”

“You stim?” said Enjolras. He looked like he was trying to hold back his excitement.

“Yeah,” said Grantaire. “For ADHD.”

“I’m autistic,” said Enjolras, now openly excited that he could share stimming with Grantaire. “Of course you’re a visual stimmer. I don’t know what I expected from a painter.”

“I’m surprised you’re a tactile stimmer,” said Grantaire. “Would’ve pegged you for an oral stimmer, what with all your speechmaking.”

“Tactile stimming is where it’s at, man,” said Enjolras. “Knitting is perfect. Thank you for teaching me.”

“It’s nothing,” said Grantaire.

“No, really. Thank you,” said Enjolras.

Enjolras was looking remarkably serious suddenly, so Grantaire relented.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Enjolras leaned up again to give Grantaire a kiss on the cheek. He missed, just by a hair, and ended up kissing his jaw. He didn’t appear to be bothered by this, and he didn’t appear to notice Grantaire’s blush.

“Now,” said Enjolras. “I’ve forgotten how to purl and I’m going to need you to explain it again.”

Grantaire quickly finished his row and turned his work. “Alright,” he said. “Purling is like alternate universe knitting, so you start from _this_ direction-”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i love stimming and im a huge tactile stimmer. that description of his stuffed animals are all real stuffed animals on my bed. i love knitting. im one of those people with adhd who has a fidget spinner and fidget cube. this was a lot of fun to write because it was basically me just picking out little parts of my life that i thought might fit them.  
> anyway! please leave me a comment! i love hearing from you! you're also welcome to message me or send me an ask on tumblr @putoriius !  
> also ive been knitting since i was eleven and i still forget how to purl. its ridiculous. youd think that after all these years id be able to purl properly but every other project i have to google 'how to purl'. im better at crochet.


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